


Owl Be Home For Christmas

by justadreamfox, likearecord



Series: Not a Fucking Squirrel [3]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Day after Christmas, M/M, justadreamfox and likearecord unsupervised, neil is still a squir- i mean sugar glider, no owls (or kevins) were harmed in this fic, shapeshifter AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:41:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28345569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justadreamfox/pseuds/justadreamfox, https://archiveofourown.org/users/likearecord/pseuds/likearecord
Summary: More sugar glider Neil to make your heart happy.ft. home and Christmas (sorta) and snow and a goddamned owl.
Relationships: Kevin Day & Neil Josten & Andrew Minyard, Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Series: Not a Fucking Squirrel [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2006251
Comments: 97
Kudos: 383





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> We're back on our bullshit and we love you.
> 
> -xoxo  
> [likearecord](https://archiveofourown.org/users/likearecord/) and [justadreamfox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justadreamfox/)

Andrew never liked Christmas all that much until Neil came along. It had always been a parade of _not good enough_ and _no one cares enough_ and _this is what you don’t have and will never have._

When Andrew had finally noped out of foster care on his 18th birthday, Neil had revealed without preamble or affectation that he had several million dollars squirreled away (ha!) and suggested that maybe they should buy a house now. 

So they bought a house - a neat updated split level with an oversized backyard - a huge magnolia on one side, oak tree on the other, dogwoods and crepe myrtles scattered throughout and overgrown azalea bushes lining the rickety fence that enclosed it all. 

Neil had stood in the open grassy bit in the middle, spinning around slowly with wide eyes, declaring it to be _the one_ before Andrew had even had a chance to step inside behind their real estate agent, to see the gleaming hardwood floors, the well loved butcher block counters in the kitchen, the clean white subway tiles in the master bath. Not that it mattered - because it wasn’t like he was going to tell Neil _no_ once he’d seen that look on his face - but Andrew loved it too. They bought the little house the next day with a cash offer, and had closed on it by the first of December. 

The first night in the house they had nothing but a set of keys and a place to call home that no one could take away from them. Which was lovely, which was wonderful - but they really needed some furniture. A pot to cook in. Towels. 

The next day after a succinct discussion and a list tapped out on Andrew’s ancient cell phone, they took a pile of Neil’s cash, and - with his sugar glider tucked into the hood of his hoodie - Andrew systematically procured: a used red Chevy pickup truck, a small cozy loveseat from Pottery Barn (hefted into the back of aforementioned red pick up truck), a brand new laptop, and as many prepaid credit cards that he could find to purchase (which was, quite many tens of thousands of dollars - those fuckers were everywhere). 

Back at their empty house they had tugged the loveseat inside, ordered Chinese food, and curled up in front of the laptop to order everything else online - a bed and mattress; towels and sheets; pots and pans and plates and forks; some tables, chairs, a rug or two; and finally, at Neil’s insistence, an eight foot tall pre-lit fake Christmas tree. 

“Really?” Andrew had asked Neil, one eyebrow raised after Neil had batted his hands away from the keyboard and clicked on _add to cart_. 

“I like trees,” Neil had said. 

Now, they had eight pre-lit Christmas trees. 

_Eight_ of them. 

Each year, Neil bought a new one, slowly building his own Christmas tree forest that they put up on the first of December in memory of buying their home, and which Neil wouldn’t let Andrew take down until well after New Years. They didn’t decorate them, although Neil would occasionally bring in particularly nice looking acorns from their oak tree, or pinecones that fell from the neighbor's yard. He’d tuck them in nooks and crannies of the trees, and Andrew wouldn’t find them until January tenth or fifteenth, when he was dismantling the trees and acorns started tumbling out and onto his head. 

Christmas for them was a new tree in their collection and a happy sugar glider soaring across the room in his magical plastic forest. Christmas was snuggling on their loveseat, eating Chinese food and picking out their own presents on the laptop to order. Christmas was a big pot of split pea soup for Christmas Eve dinner and giant waffles Christmas morning, followed by movie watching and naps and maybe Andrew reading one of the ten novels he bought himself every December.

This Christmas Neil had insisted on a Harry Potter marathon, and they’d watched and snacked and dozed and made out and snuggled throughout the night, and most of the next day too, before waking up to a fresh blanket of snow at 10pm on December 26th. 

It was beautiful and sparkling in their backyard under the moonlight, drifts piled on the magnolia leaves and the azalea bushes. Neil wanted to play, so they played; Neil as squirrel climbing the trees and then swooping towards Andrew to land on his shoulders, in his outstretched hands, on his head. Each time Andrew would carefully deposit him back on a tree trunk so he could scurry up and do it all over again. Neil should have been cold - Andrew was freezing - but they’d figured out long ago that Neil ran hot, that it must be a shifter thing since sugar gliders were technically tropical creatures. 

(It was part of the reason Andrew had such a hard time getting Neil to wear clothes.)

Andrew tucked Neil up on a magnolia branch, and realized his teeth were chattering. “I’ll be right back,” he said, heading inside for a hat and gloves and maybe a glass of whiskey to warm him from the inside out. 

Andrew had just stepped back out the door, drink in hand, when he heard a screech and then loud squawking that took him a minute to realize was coming from Neil. His heart stopped, sheer panic icing his veins as he dropped his drink, tried to sprint off their porch into the yard, only to have his feet slip out from under him on the snow and ice. 

He went down hard on his ass just in time to see Neil fling himself from the top of the magnolia tree, his little wings spread wide, his tiny nose pointed straight at the snowy ground, squawking loudly all the way. Andrew screamed soundlessly as a huge black owl came winging up behind him, his wingspan giant, his beak open in another screech, his piercing green eyes narrowed in on Andrew’s squirrel. 

Andrew launched to his feet, scrabbled for anything - getting his hands on an old exy racket that leaned against the side of the porch - and got ready to swing, but suddenly Neil stopped squawking and folded his wings, spinning around impossibly in the air. 

In the blink of an eye Neil popped into human form, his naked body illuminated in the moonlight, and then he decked the goddamned owl in the beak. 

The owl went tumbling towards the base of the magnolia, tail over beak, black feathers flying and a sputtering shriek cut off abruptly as he presumably crashed into the trunk. Andrew yelled, throwing the exy racket aside to dive face-up underneath Neil, who was closing in hard on the ground in his 160 pound human body, and just managed to pop back to squirrel before landing with a tiny crumpled thump on Andrew’s chest. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Andrew gasped, panicked, hands hovering helplessly while Neil righted himself, gave a good shake, Andrew desperately cataloging - four feet intact, nothing bent at an angle, nothing but pure fury in Neil’s little blue eyes. Neil went human again, naked and sitting on Andrew for the space of a second before he catapulted himself up and towards the magnolia tree. 

“You motherfucker, you were going to eat me!” 

Andrew got to his feet to go after him, concerned that Neil must have hit his head because he didn’t usually talk to animals - and about fell on his ass again when he heard a deep, unfamiliar voice rasp out, “You’re a _shifter?_ ” 

“No fucking shit asshole, have you ever seen a sugar glider with blue eyes and red fur before?”

“I- what’s a sugar glider,” the man asked dazedly. 

“Oh my god,” Neil threw his hands up in the air and turned to Andrew in indignant supplication, but Andrew was standing stock still in shock behind Neil, staring at the incredibly good looking, incredibly _naked_ man sitting on the ground in a heap against their magnolia tree. 

Neil groaned and turned back around to point at the man. “You need to leave,” he demanded. 

The man stood up and he was tall - dark hair and eyes so green that they glowed emerald in the moonlight. He was also still _very_ naked. He put his palms up, placating towards them. “I didn’t know you were a shifter. I’m sorry. I’m just. I’m hungry,” he trailed off, staring at Neil still. “I’ve never met another shifter before.” 

Neil crossed his arms, unmoved. “Not my problem.” 

Andrew stepped up beside him, finally finding his words, and the owl-man’s gaze flicked to him briefly before snapping back to Neil. “Neil,” Andrew said carefully, and Neil had known him long enough that just Andrew’s tone of voice was enough to make him glare at Andrew. It was the same tone of voice Andrew used when he’d found another kid in foster care that needed their special brand of help. 

“No,” Neil said, shaking his head. “Andrew, _he tried to eat me.”_

“I’m sorry,” the man cut in again. 

Andrew held up a hand to each of them. “He’s not going to try to eat you now, are you-” Andrew turned to him. “Do you have a name?”

“Kevin,” the man said. 

“Kevin’s not going to try to eat you now, okay love?” 

“Damned right he’s not, because he is leaving.” 

“Neil.” The voice again. 

Neil threw his arms up in the air. “Fine, but he can’t have any of my goldfish,” he muttered before turning on heel and stomping inside. 

Andrew looked up at Kevin. “Come on. I will make you a sandwich, and uh,” Andrew forced his gaze over Kevin’s shoulder, “we will find you some clothes.” 

Andrew turned to go back to the house, but he saw Kevin hesitate and he paused. Andrew turned back, searched his face, saw something in those green eyes that reminded him why he and Neil were becoming social workers. Andrew tilted his head back towards the house. “It is safe here. I promise.” 

Kevin was watching him, warily, and Andrew waited, but just then Neil popped his head out the door and shouted, “Come on you stupid owl,” and that got Kevin moving, his eyes trained on Neil in fascination, and Andrew sighed, picked up his whiskey glass from the snow, and followed Kevin into the house. 


	2. Chapter 2

Neil snatched the hoodie out of Andrew’s hands before Kevin could take it. 

Andrew sighed. “Neil, he needs some clothes.”

“I didn’t say he couldn’t have clothes. He just can’t have  _ my _ clothes.”

“That is my hoodie,” Andrew said. 

“All hoodies are my hoodies,” Neil said, wrapping both arms tightly around the sweatshirt and frowning at both of them. Kevin had been blessedly silent, staring at Neil nonstop since they’d brought him inside, and Andrew was unsure if it was obsession or if he was still thinking about eating him. 

“We need to give him some clothes,” Andrew said patiently. 

“We can buy him his own clothes tomorrow,” Neil countered. 

“Yes, but that does not solve the problem  _ now.” _

“What problem? He’s not cold.” Neil turned to Kevin. “You’re not cold are you?”

“No,” Kevin agreed. 

“See?” Neil said triumphantly, hiding the hoodie behind him now. Neil was, also, still quite naked. 

Andrew sighed heavily, exasperated, and feeling very, very gay in a room with two fit, naked men. “He has to put on clothes Neil.”

“But why?” Neil let out his own sigh of frustration. 

Andrew just raised both eyebrows and gestured up and down in Kevin’s general direction. “Because,” he said, with a flourish of his hand before pulling another rogue hoodie off the back of the couch and trying to hand it to Kevin. They kept quite a few items of clothing laying around for when Neil popped back human and didn’t want to go upstairs for clothes. Neil snatched this one out of his hands too, and hid it away behind him with the first one, glaring at Andrew now, and looking back and forth between him and Kevin before he paused, a look of surprise dawning on his face. 

“Oh,” he said, eyes growing wide. “Oh. Is he a  _ Harry Styles? _ ” In that moment Andrew regretted a great many of his life choices, not the least of which the time he’d stupidly told Neil that he thought Harry Styles was incredibly hot.

“Basically,” Andrew conceded through gritted teeth. He wasn’t worried about Neil being jealous - he and Neil were endgame, mated for life (as Neil says) - jealousy had no foothold between them. However, that did not mean he needed to continue to be subjected to hanging out with an incredibly good looking naked owl in his own living room to prove some kind of point. 

Neil squinted at Kevin, very blatantly looking him up and down, and Kevin shifted subtly on his feet, tilted his chin up defiantly, but kept his mouth shut. “I don’t see it,” Neil said finally, ”but whatever. I’ll get him some clothes.”

Neil grabbed every stray hoodie in the room before bounding up the stairs, and Andrew rolled his eyes and gestured Kevin into the kitchen. 

Andrew started pulling sandwich stuff from the fridge - bread and turkey and swiss - and when he turned to set it onto the counter he almost bumped into the (still) naked Kevin, who had his eyes closed and was leaning his face down close to Andrew’s hair. 

“Are you _smelling_ me?” Andrew asked. 

“Sorry,” Kevin muttered, turning crimson, and backing away hastily.

“What the fuck?” 

“I was trying to figure out what you shift into,” Kevin said sheepishly. 

“He doesn’t,” Neil said, coming back into the kitchen wearing one of Andrew’s hoodies and a pair of sweatpants. “What, is your sniffer broken? He doesn’t smell like a shifter.” He shoved a set of flannel pajamas at Kevin. Andrew recognized it as a pair that he had worn _once_ before Neil had grumpily declared that it had no pockets and that Andrew was not allowed to wear clothing without pockets (specifically Neil-sized pockets). 

“Thank you,” Kevin said stiffly as he took the pajamas and started putting them on right in the kitchen. They were meant to be oversized, but on him the fit was snug across his chest and thighs. Even though it was clear that Kevin was just a little too far on the lean side to have been eating regularly, he was still much taller and broader than either of them. Andrew sighed. At least he wasn’t naked anymore. 

When he’d looked up from buttoning the last button, Kevin stepped closer to Neil. “First of all, I have never met another shifter, so how would I know what they smell like? Second of all, I am an _owl._ We aren’t exactly known for our sense of smell.” He took another step, leaned towards Neil, and Neil held his ground. “But I can smell you. Like...like grass. Like summer. And how the moonlight would smell if it could. Humans don’t smell like that.”

“First of all,” Andrew said, coming between them. “You can’t go around smelling people without permission. Second of all, eat this, you are skin and bones.” Andrew handed him the sandwich, and Kevin took it, staring at Andrew for a frozen second before he broke and all but inhaled it in four giant bites. 

Andrew and Neil exchanged a glance, and Andrew went to make him another sandwich. 

Two more sandwiches and five gingerbread cookies later - along with a refill on the lost whiskey for Andrew - the three of them sat in the middle of the living room, surrounded by Neil’s Christmas tree forest, all the lights on and twinkling in various patterns of gaiety. 

“Go,” Neil said, poking Kevin’s knee with two fingers. 

“Go where?” Kevin frowned at him. 

Neil rolled his eyes and tucked himself into Andrew’s side. “Tell us your story, obviously.”

“Oh,” Kevin’s gaze shuttered a bit. “What do you need to know?”   


“Maybe start with why you’ve never seen another shifter and how you found yourself alone on the holidays trying to eat my boyfriend,” Andrew suggested. 

Kevin blushed. He was, apparently, a blusher. “I’m sorry,” he said for the umpteenth time, but Neil flapped a hand at him, clearly over it. “Okay. But I am. Sorry. Um,” he ran a hand through his hair, looking around at the trees like he was looking for answers, “I haven’t talked to a person in a year, at least.”

“What are you running from then?” Neil asked. 

Kevin startled. “How do you know I am running?” he whispered. 

Neil shrugged. “We know what running looks like. Is someone after you?” 

“Not anymore, I don’t think. I was...I was a _pet,”_ Kevin said, looking at the floor. Andrew tensed, and Neil had flinched beside him. “My… _owner_...died. I fled in the confusion, and I have just been - I stayed owl. Ever since. Until tonight.” 

“Did you kill him? This owner asshole?” Neil asked. Andrew could feel him almost vibrating next to him in anger, and he wrapped a hand around Neil’s knee, soothing both of them. Kevin gazed at them, the wariness creeping back into his green eyes. Neil reached out and poked Kevin’s knee again. “It’s okay. We don’t mourn dead assholes in this house.” 

Kevin searched his face, and then relaxed a little, eyes flicking back and forth between Neil and Andrew. “He broke my hand, when I was in human form, and I couldn’t shift until I healed. Then when I could shift, I couldn’t fly for months. I waited until I could, and then. And then. Yeah, I killed him.” 

He didn’t look remorseful. 

Good. 

“So where are you running to?” Andrew asked. 

Kevin shrugged, and it was an odd look on his formal frame. 

“Clearly you don’t have people, if you’ve never met a shifter,” Neil said quietly.

Kevin looked surprised. “Do you have people?”   


“Well yeah,” Neil said. “But they are bad people. So I got a new person,” he said, and he tucked his fingers in between Andrew’s. 

Andrew pulled Neil’s hand into his lap, but he was watching Kevin, how his eyes had saddened at Neil’s words, how his shoulders were stiff and straight even after his shrug, how his face had shut down when he’d said the word _pet._ He clearly had nowhere to go.

Andrew squeezed Neil’s hand twice - a question - and Neil squeezed back once - an answer, a _yes._

“Kevin, what do you know about Harry Potter?” Andrew asked, and Neil grinned.

They didn’t actually have a TV - Neil and Andrew preferred to snuggle in the bed or on the couch with the laptop balanced precariously on their knees. Tonight they arranged themselves on their small couch, the laptop elevated on a pile of large books in front of them, Neil sprawled across Andrew’s lap, and Kevin on his side, carefully keeping his long arms and legs to himself. 

Andrew made them hot chocolate with cinnamon and marshmallows, and they started at the beginning because Kevin had never seen the Harry Potter movies. (Neil had squawked at that, even though he hadn’t seen them himself until a year ago.)

When dawn started to creep through the windows, all three of them were yawning and Kevin had been officially converted to a one man Hedwig stan. “Stay,” Neil said. “The couch if you want, though - you are a bit tall. You can go owl, it might be easier.”

Kevin yawned again, nodding, and then went owl before he’d even finished his yawn, wiggling out of the plaid pajama top before launching off the couch with several powerful flaps and landing on top of one of the sturdier Christmas trees. 

Neil paused before following Andrew upstairs, turning to pin the black owl with a glare and a pointed finger. “Do _not_ poop in my tree.” 

Andrew huffed a laugh, and reached back to grab a hold of his squirrel by the hand and tug him upstairs, Kevin ruffling his feathers indignantly behind them.


	3. Chapter 3

“Do these branches look different to you?” Neil asked suspiciously, pointing towards about thirty different clumps of plastic pine needles. 

“No,” Andrew said. 

“They look cleaner.” Neil sniffed. “He had to clean them.” 

Andrew, on the couch with a hot mug of very sugary coffee, took another sip instead of laughing. “As long as he cleaned them himself.” 

Neil gave the clump of needles a last disgruntled poke - dislodging an acorn that bounced to the floor - and flopped onto the couch. He was wearing clothes at Andrew’s insistence: a long-sleeved, boxy shirt that was at least three sizes too big but appealed to Neil’s preference for having wings; tiny running shorts that Andrew bought for himself to appreciate; and thick, fur-lined socks designed to look like unicorns. The colorful cones of knitting that suggested the horns were crooked on both feet, pointing off to the right. It gave Neil’s feet the appearance of two cocked heads. 

“Birds,” Neil muttered. “He needs a bed. I don’t trust birds in our trees.” 

“Yes,” Andrew said with gravitas. “I have read all about the moral imperative to keep birds out of trees.” 

“You’re lucky I love you,” Neil grumbled. 

Very lucky, Andrew thought. Incredibly fucking lucky. The luckiest person who’d ever lived. And now, somehow, they’d been found by a second shifter--and yet, it was someone who reminded Andrew more of himself than of Neil. Someone broken, someone who couldn’t take up all the space his lanky body would allow. “Clothes,” Andrew said, instead of any of that. “He’ll need clothes, too.” 

“And a dresser,” Neil agreed, sighing. “Nightstand. Lamp. Hangers. Sheets, pillows, shoes, a toothbrush. His _own_ snacks.” 

“That’s too much,” a quiet voice said from the archway. “I don’t need--” 

“You need all of it,” Neil interrupted. “And then some.” 

“You shouldn’t--” 

“But we’re going to,” Neil interrupted again. “This is a place where people get what they need.” 

Kevin turned a little green. Andrew took pity on him. “You can stay home if you’d rather. Do you know your sizes?” 

Kevin nodded. 

“Great,” Andrew said. “You make a list. I’ll make breakfast. Neil will make himself presentable.” 

At Neil’s indignant squawk, Andrew raised a quelling hand. “You cannot think that’s a normal outfit for the end of December.” 

Neil propped his feet on Andrew’s lap and looked down at himself, assessing. The shirt, for all of the fabric it contained, had too wide a neckline to fully cover both of Neil’s shoulders. The shorts were yellow with a busy pattern of chili peppers and concealed very little of Neil’s thighs. They clashed horribly with the rusty orange of the shirt. It was so loud, the socks seemed sedate in comparison. 

“Fine,” Neil said. “Don’t give him any of my goldfish.” 

“Well, there goes my waffle recipe,” Andrew said drily. 

Kevin watched Neil jog past him and thunder up the stairs with that same fascinated awe he’d had since he’d tried to eat him and ended up with an ass full of dirty snow. Andrew snapped to get his attention and pointed him towards the kitchen with his mug. Once there, Andrew opened both sides of the fridge and considered its contents. There were Eggos, he could make those. Or, he could make them from scratch. There were eggs that could be fried up. He found half a package of bacon, a frozen bag of tiny potato cubes, a bunch of cheese. Perfect. Breakfast skillets. 

Andrew started pulling ingredients out as Kevin finally settled himself at the counter, perched so awkwardly on the edge of the stool that it was hard to believe he was any kind of bird at all. 

“Thank you,” Kevin said faintly. “But--” 

“No buts,” Andrew said, cutting him off. 

“You don’t even know me.” 

“Neil didn’t know me when he saved me. It worked out.” 

Kevin looked curious, but Andrew waved him off with the knife in his hand. “That’s a long story. We’ll tell it later. Do you like peppers?” 

He did like peppers. He liked spinach, too, and tomatoes, bacon, his eggs over easy, his potatoes crispy. Kevin was halfway through his heaping plate by the time Neil came back down, this time in jeans and one of Andrew’s hoodies, his feet shoved into the bright red pair of Converse he wore when he couldn’t get out of having to put shoes on. Andrew slid Neil’s plate across to him--very similar to Kevin’s, except with chives instead of peppers, cheese, and a little sour cream. 

By the time they were all done eating and the dishwasher was loaded, Neil’s shoes had come off again. He reluctantly crammed his feet back into them as Kevin watched, his face doing a complicated thing that landed somewhere between hopeful and astonished. 

“Be here when we get home,” Neil said, glaring. “I’m going to be pissed if I run all of these errands for no reason.” 

“He’ll be here,” Andrew said. He caught Kevin’s eyes and added, firmly, “There’s a tub upstairs you can use. Make yourself at home. Use anything you like.” 

Beside him, a softly indignant noise. “Except the hoodies,” Andrew added. “All of the hoodies are Neil’s.” 

It was a good thing they had the pickup, because it was full by the time they finished shopping a few hours later. They’d decided to brave the Ikea for the sake of Kevin having furniture that night, but Neil was prone to distraction by small, shiny objects in his human form. Andrew managed to curtail most of the superfluous shopping to a new salt and pepper shaker, a set of sisal placemats that Neil didn’t put down for even a moment after they found them, and a thick, fuzzy blanket that Neil tried to take out of its packaging and wear as a cape. They also did get Kevin a bed, a mattress, a dresser, a nightstand, pillows, and a small plant Neil insisted would add life to the room. Between that and the Target stop, they rolled up their driveway with a pickup full of boxes, shopping bags, and a few sacks of takeout from Neil’s favorite fish and chips place. The closer they’d gotten to the house, the more Neil had hunched, his shoulders high and set. 

“He’ll be there,” Andrew assured him. “He won’t run.” 

“Fly,” Neil countered. 

“He won’t fly,” Andrew allowed. “We’re offering him something valuable.” 

“Twelve hundred dollars worth of furniture and sweatpants?” Neil asked. 

“More than that. Home. Family. You.” 

“Me?” 

“He’d never met another shifter,” Andrew pointed out gently. “He’s fascinated by you.” 

Neil’s _hrmph_ sounded dismissive, but his shoulders loosened, his neck lengthened, and he slid up a little in his seat. 

“Do you think he knows how to put together Ikea furniture?” Andrew asked once he’d backed up the driveway, carefully angling the rear of the truck towards the front entrance that was closer to the spare bedroom. 

“That dumb pigeon?” Neil asked skeptically. 

He didn’t, it turned out. Neither did Neil, for that matter. But, Andrew had always been good with his hands, had always had a steadier approach to tasks, had always been able to focus on minutiae, and he’d never been shy about telling other people what to do. So, they got through it. The bed was pretty easy, the dresser more difficult. When they tossed the rolled-up mattress onto the bed, Kevin looked at them like they were crazy, but then spent the next eight minutes crouched next to it watching it expand. 

They put fresh-out-of-the-dryer sheets on, wrestled the duvet into submission, made Kevin admire the place mats--like Neil, he kept scraping his nails against them, digging his fingers against the fibers--and then left him alone to try on his new clothes. 

It was hours before Kevin emerged again. His hair was sticking out like ruffled feathers and he was in a matching pajama set with owls printed on it that Neil had stubbornly insisted they bring home with them. The wariness in his eyes was replaced with something dazed and disbelieving. 

Neil surveyed him and seemed to find something there to his satisfaction. He tucked his arm more firmly over Andrew’s shoulder and chest and said, throwing the words over his shoulder, “Andrew’s going to make spaghetti.” 

“Andrew is the cook?” Kevin guessed. 

Andrew and Neil said, “Yes,” in unison. Neil grinned, but Andrew grimaced. “Neil is…” 

“Inventive,” Neill suggested. “Innovative. Bold.” 

“Terrible,” Andrew said, once Neil had finished suggesting bullshit prevarication. “He added cinnamon to lasagna.” 

“It was worth a shot,” Neil protested. 

“He tried to fry a potato.” 

“Hey, I--” 

“A whole potato,” Andrew continued. “Unpeeled.” 

“One of these days,” Neil muttered. “I’m going to hit on something big.” 

“He added mashed bananas to popcorn.” 

“Once,” Kevin said slowly. “I ate a cricket that had landed in some peanut butter.” 

At this, Neil perked up, and Andrew realized, suddenly, his very serious mistake: there were two of them now. 


End file.
